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Remo picks up the spoon, tastes the sauce, and nods. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” I repeat, crossing my arms. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“It’s edible,” he says, smirking now.

I roll my eyes. “High praise coming from a man who burns toast.”

Nodding toward the dining area where the other men are scattered, I ask, “You think they’ll eat this?”

“They’ll eat anything if they’re hungry enough,” Remo says.

I give him the middle finger. “Asshole.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but before he can respond, the sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway.

Livia appears in the doorway, breathless and wild-eyed, her sharp eyes darting between us. “We’ve got a problem,” she says, her voice clipped.

Remo’s smirk vanishes instantly. “What is it?”

“I’ve found them,” she says, her voice shaking. “Vizzini’s hideout.”

The room freezes, the gravity of her words sinking in.

And just like that, the fragile peace I’d found in the kitchen is gone, replaced by the chaos that seems to follow Remo wherever he goes.

Chapter 20

Remo

I’m here for blood.

It’s a feeling that’s as familiar as my own skin, raw and hollow, but with a promise of release. Something primal. The kind of thing you don’t talk about unless you’ve lived it, felt it, been consumed by it.

Livia and Marco are right behind me as we approach the warehouse, a grim little spot tucked in the shadows of a crumbling neighborhood. It’s all concrete, steel, and dirt—perfect for hiding shit you don’t want to be found. That’s where Leone and his rats have been holed up for the last few weeks.

My men move in silently, setting charges. The blast rips through the air, a deafening roar that shakes my chest.

When the dust settles, there’s nothing but the stench of burning metal and blood.

I step out from behind the truck, scanning the wreckage. Bodies are scattered everywhere—some of them my own men, but most of them Leone’s.

I don’t care if it’s a massacre. I want him, the bastard who’s been slipping under my radar for too long.

He’s not here, though. The fucker’s hiding like the cockroach he is. It’s also too damn quiet, too still.

I signal to Marco. He gives me a quick nod, and we start moving in, guns raised, every step measured. We know the drill by now. We’ve been through this shit a thousand times.

“Boss,” Marco mutters, his eyes scanning the shadows and narrowing in suspicion. “I think something is amiss here.”

I don’t need him to say it. I know. I can fucking feel it.

And then, just like that, the silence shatters.

A whole goddamn army bursts from the remaining parts of the building, guns blazing.

My instincts kick in, and I dive for cover as the sharp sound of bullets sings by my ears, close enough for me to feel their heat.

I catch Marco’s eye for a split second before the world goes to hell. He doesn’t need to be told.